Kalends of August
by StoryReigns96
Summary: Hadrian Potter was born August 1st, 1976, to two young parents straight out of Hogwarts. They left him in the care of his paternal grandparents for the most part until four years later when his younger sister Rosaline was born and they had to go into hiding but eventually, Voldemort caught up with them. HP/NT, JP/LEP, OC/LL Independent Grey!Harry Metamorph!Harry Wrong!BWL AU GoF
1. Joyful Deliverance

**Harry Potter: Kalends of August**

 **Summary** **:** Hadrian Potter was born on the first of August, 1976, to James and Lily Potter. As young parents straight out of Hogwarts, they left him in the care of his paternal grandparents for the most part until four years later when his younger sister Rosaline was born and they had go into hiding but eventually, Voldemort caught up with them. **HP/NT, JP/LEP, OC/LL** **Independent** **Grey** **Metamorph Harry! Wrong BWL!**

 **Warning** **:** This story contains, or will do at some point in the future adult themes, coarse language, hence the **M** rating. So slow your roll Mary Poppins, shit is about to get real, real quick.

 **Not a Disclaimer:** This is fan fiction on a website used for the sole purpose of reading fan fiction, hence the name. That being said J.K Rowling is the nice lady who wrote the Harry Potter series and as one of the few popular authors who can understand the benefits of condoning fanfics, I've decided to give her a shout out. Because of this, I have decided decisively that there will not be any lemons, I am not opposed to these in principle, but I will respect her wishes, in this case, that being said; expect some naughtier moments.

Expect a lot of exposition in these first opening chapters, there is a lot of ground to cover with all the changes I've made from the beginning of my universe to the opening of the Fourth book. Really, not a lot of dialogue or character interaction taking place in real time at the start, so be prepared to weather a hail of information until I can reconcile the timelines.

 **F.Y.I:** 'Kalends' means the first of a month in the Roman calendar, i.e. the first of August would be the Kalends of the August, get it? The title makes sense now, doesn't it?

 **Update** **:** Edited and Resubmitted on 08/05/2016.

* * *

 **Chapter 1** **–** **Joyful Deliverance**

 **England, Quidditch Trillenium Stadium – August 22nd, 1994**

She believed the irony of wizardry (and witchcraft) could scarce be more encapsulated than here in this abandoned moor in Devonshire. A national park meant to prevent the hustle & bustle of modern life, utterly devoid of traffic congestion and noise pollution, a monument to the conservation of natural beauty and the wildlife that dwelt within its boundaries. This was the venue the Ministry of Magic had selected to host the largest assembly in their world.

Here, were 100,000 witches and wizards had congregated to witness the greatest spectacle the 'noble' sport of wizards had to offer: the Quidditch World Cup. This was apparently the 422nd series, but that didn't make sense because the first time the tournament had been held was in 1473 and was repeated after a period of four years, so technically that meant if this truly was the 422nd playoff and it did actually take place every four years then going by that logic, then the first tournament should have started in the early fourth century. Which subsequently, was a millennium before the first game of Quidditch ever recorded and indeed – before the invention of the flying broomstick.

To answer the question as to why no one saw fit to debunk the ICW Quidditch Committee's claim was rather obvious, in her mind at least; the words 'wizards' and 'logic', simply did not belong in the same sentence without the words 'lack thereof' between them. She wasn't entirely certain if sorcerers who hadn't at the very least taken Muggle Studies at Hogwarts knew even the most basic arithmetic.

Attending the World Cup Final was a belated birthday gift… well one of them but to be honest, it was as much her dad's present as it was hers, if not more so. Seeing as that's all he'd been bloody talking about in the weeks following her birthday; "England is in the Final! England is in the Final!".

To be fair, it was a rather spectacular event. The British National Teams had developed the bad habit of providing the viewing public with nothing but abysmal showings, for example; Wales had just been thoroughly trampled by Uganda, continuing a trend of first round knockouts that held firm for a generation. And in conjunction with the sheer amount of enthusiasm from British fans, it always seemed to zap the life out of the country until the professional league kicked off again in the fall.

However, this year the powers that be in the Department of Magical Games and Sports decided to shake things up a bit. It had taken up nearly a weeks worth of the Daily Prophet's front page and Dad's mornings with his constant complaining and furious ranting of "Bagman being off his sodding head with this bollocks!" before she could say she was thoroughly informed of the situation. She didn't much mind this breakfast conversation, it was a welcome change for her to be out of that ruddy paper 'Honestly, how in the world anybody could consider the colour of her robes on an ice cream run to Florean's was beyond her'. Plus Dad would usually be cut off by Mum with a smack upside the head for cursing in front of their daughter.

She hadn't really paid that much heed to the story, not being the biggest Quidditch fans per se. While she loved to play the game as much as anything, she was never fanatical over the day to day workings of the sport in general or its franchises, even if so many of her friends were. Ron was the biggest _and only_ fan of the Chudley Cannons, Ginny was a Harpy to the bone, her father had decided his family would support Puddlemere United in all their games, so Mum liked the Kestrels the best because their colours matched her eyes and she couldn't care less about Quidditch or what her husband _decided_. Her own personal favourite were the Bats but besides for a t-shirt and some additional cheering when they won, she didn't care much either way as long as she got to do laps on her Firebolt.

While she hadn't kept up personally with the news coming out of Ministry regarding the National Team draft, Dad had made sure that his household was kept abreast of the situation over dozens of family meals. Again, not claiming to be expert in the goings on of professional Quidditch, she did think that it had been sufficiently carved into her memory.

The gist was that the British teams sucked; they were truly and utterly terrible, really possessing no saving grace or redeeming qualities whatsoever. So much so in fact, it was a testament to British fanaticism that they still rallied behind their teams in first place.

But how this could be, in a society that went absolutely nutters over this simple ball and broomstick game? Again, the answer was simple: _bureaucracy_.

Now you see while most of the legends of the sport came from Great Britain, i.e. Roderick Plumpton, Jocelind Wadcock, Darren O'Hare, etc. With even the game itself probably originating here, abundance of talent was never an issue nor was it for lack of popularity.

The problem came around a hundred years ago when some rich pure-bloods who 'happened' to own some of the professional teams in the British Quidditch circuit 'happened' to notice that their players were often injured and subsequently unable to play for them during the insanely competitive tournament, said pure-bloods also 'happened' to hold a majority of the seats in the Wizengamot, so when a bill proposing that Britain's professional players be forbidden from participating in the World Cup 'happened' to be brought forth in the halls of the Wizengamot, it somehow miraculously passed with an overwhelming majority.

It didn't exactly have the desired effect. An uproar amongst their fans led to a sharp decrease in ticket sales and merchandise, coinciding with a lot of players approaching their retirements resigning in protest, with some even cursing their former bosses (there in lies the cause of Chudley's atrocious record as far as legend goes). But, pure-bloods are nothing if not persistent.

With Britain's best players now unable to play on the national level due to fear of losing their livelihoods, their teams were now made up of Hogwarts alumni straight out of school who didn't quite make it to the big leagues, who'd never competed at the highest level of their sport then thrown into the grandest spectacle the wizarding world has to offer and left to fail, patriotic amateurs who believed that 'winning' is having fun and retired veterans long past their primes.

Luckily, Ireland managed to avoid being dealt the same fate by the sheer dumb luck that some inbred elitist had forgotten they also were under the jurisdiction of the Ministry so they never bothered in including them in their bill, leaving the British populace at least one outlet to cheer for without nagging disappointment in the back of their heads.

So for the next century, Britain's reputation as the foremost Quidditch savvy race plummeted until it became basically the opposite, to the point that she could only believe that the reason the World Cup was taking place in England was in order for the other nations to humiliate them for their many foreign affairs blunders.

It was obvious to everyone outside of the Ministry that eventually; something would have to change, and so it did in the form of one: Ludovic Bagman. The Head of DMGS had the brilliant idea of completely _revolutionizing_ the process of acquiring players for the National Squad – which meant they were going to altogether stop the practices of scouting for new talent and put an end to year long tryouts  & call backs... so basically every conventional way of forming a Quidditch line-up. So it was no great mystery then why her father had been so bent out of shape recently.

In its place, they held a single tryout, mere weeks before the start of the tournament, that had been open to all comers tyring their luck in hopes of earning a spot on the grandest stage of them all... it was a complete disaster. Thousands of potential hopefuls descended on the tryouts, and with it came three whole days of the emergency ward at St. Mungo's being flooded with the less talented applicants, she only this because as a result, she hadn't so much as seen her mother that weekend. While her dad persisted that he had not attempted tryout himself, it didn't mean she believed him – he usually got into all sorts of trouble without Mum holding his leash.

Despite the chaos, they somehow managed to narrow it down enough to successfully put together their teams for the World Cup, she took her father's cranky mood in the weeks following the picks that he both did in fact try out and subsequently, did not make the cut. Why Bagman hadn't just simply revoked the ban on the pros playing was according to Dad; because he had been bought and paid for.

The results of the peculiar draft varied wildly, Wales was still as terrible as ever, Scotland which had astonishingly made it to the finals in the last tournament just to lose to Canada by a slim margin, had been crushed in their first game by Luxembourg.

While everyone was expecting England to continue its losing streak, even more so than usual with 'Bagman's blunder', it didn't stop the legions of English fans from cheering, just lowered their expectations considerably – which was a feat in of itself. But just when everyone had basically already decided that Bagman was going to get the boot and kicked out on his arse, there was an upset. A _major_ upset.

It appeared that a phoenix had risen from the ashes of England's dreadful past glories squandered, an 'unknown' player had made it on their starting line-up _._ It seemed that the Ministry had managed to bungle its way into pay dirt. And with their new player came hope, hope that they might actually have a chance.

At first, it seemed that the critics were going to be proven right, England's Chasers were shite, their Keeper couldn't keep a Quaffle from passing through a ring if it hit him in his empty head and one of their Beaters had a problem with figuring out exactly which team he was supposed to be sending Bludgers towards. The result of their incompetence meant Transylvania had easily taken a 200-0 lead within the first hour of play – Bagman must have felt the noose tightening around his neck, when all of a sudden; _deliverance_.

A _Seeker_ to put all others to shame. Apparently having had enough of his teammates incompetence, he'd stolen the Quaffle from the Transylvanians and before anyone knew what was happening had scored a goal, putting England back on the board. As it was, while only the Seeker could touch the Snitch and only the Keeper could block the rings, there was no rule against a Seeker scoring with the Quaffle, albeit it was very unusual given the skill required to play more than one position effectively at this level of competition, not to mention that Seekers tended to need to use their time hunting down the Snitch in order to not only win points but to end the game.

What followed was nothing short of spectacular, a _complete_ turnaround. Plays never seen before were seemingly being thought up on the fly by the eccentric Seeker, such as; suicide diving the goal posts just to pull up at the last moment and garnering more of those oh so precious _10s_ , stealing a bat from one of the enemy's Beaters and knocking out two of their Chasers before breaking their Keeper's broom. Some of it she wasn't even sure was legal, but no one seemed to care because this was England and the thought on everyone's mind was ' _Whatever it takes to get the W_.' stuff like using an overcharged light charm to blind his opponents to slip the Quaffle through the pocket or flying underneath their remaining Chaser and pulling her off her broom by her robes, while not technically illegal as contact was allowed as long you didn't touch any part of their 'anatomy', the English refs had _sagely_ decided that that rule did not apply to clothing, apparently transfiguring a giant wall out of the pitch for their other Beater to crash into was also fair play. By the end there he had even started conjuring albatrosses to carry the Quaffle through the rings.

About every person in the huge arena was on their feet gawking at the incredible feats, made even more incredible by the fact he seemed to be doing them effortlessly. Most had figured that England would try to tie the game while they held the momentum before sending their Seeker back out to search for the winning prize, as Transylvania's seeker was flying around like a chicken with his head cut off trying to find the bleeding thing and end their route.

But once again, not conforming to people's expectations, as soon as the score hit 200-60 against England, he flew up to the nearest referee, shuffled his robes, and out popped one Snitch from his sleeve, winning the game 210-200. Advancing England into the quarterfinals for the first time since 1805 with a textbook Plumpton Pass. It was a good thing there was no roof on the stadium, for had there been, it wouldn't have withstood the cheers.

Then bustling with enthusiasm, the masses of British Quidditch fans huddled together in the stands and waited with baited breath for the next match, all of them calling to avenge their northern neighbour's defeat to Luxembourg. The excitement was palpable, 100,000 screaming fans wondering if England had it in them. They were not disappointed, in an upset we perhaps should have saw coming England's Seeker broke one of the most coveted records in Quidditch, by catching the Snitch with the quickest time in the World's Cup long history. It took seven short, but oh so sweet seconds for the scorecard to hit 150-0 and move England on to the semis.

People had already forgotten their troubled past and were now calling the World Cup for England, boasting that with the 'Greatest-Of-All-Time' - they were bound to win.

The next match saw England and Ireland facing off against each other. Now this had managed to upset a lot of people, both sides declaring they wanted no part in facing the other, with the incensed crowds demanding a change in the brackets, some even arguing that they dissolve the separate teams and merge them as Team UK and play the finals _united..._ which basically Ireland's team with England's Seeker. It kinda made sense to do so, in her mind at least; perhaps splitting the best the nation had to offer into four teams did weaken all of their chances but she supposed four times the teams meant four times the profit. In the end, nothing changed and the match went ahead with just an awful amount of grumbling.

Yet what a match it was, people were hailing it as the 'Greatest match in living memory', both teams played a clean game but both put their all into it. Ireland true to form came out swinging and while they quickly took the lead, England somehow managed to rally, probably thanks to the roars of their fans, each team keeping it within the reach of the Seeker ending it. Finally, after a hard fought five hour match with no end in sight, while England's Seeker was flying above the stadium by hundreds of feet in search for the snitch, Ireland's own Seeker and Captain Aidan Lynch started hurdling across the pitch chasing after the illusive golden winged ball on his Firebolt, inching ever closer to the prize. It appeared that the game was at an end and with it England's chance at winning the World Cup.

When… he _jumped_. She was willing to bet there wasn't a person in the crowd, who at that moment didn't think he was out of his mind, falling from that height at terminal velocity plus the speed at which he thrust himself off his broom. As he got closer and closer to the grassy field, he stretched out his arm as if to catch the object he so desperately sought even though it would now surely lead to his death, splattered on the ground like a bug, she had to admit that is what she was thinking; believing that the only reason he was able to compete in the World Cup was due to a lack of a highly needed psyche evaluation.

He had caught the snitch and subsequently won the game, securing England's place in the final World Cup, but nobody seemed to care. Because he was going to die and everyone knew there was nothing that could be done about it, they might have won the game but they had lost an incredible wizard.

The Muggle Webster's Dictionary defines 'impossible' as the "incapability of occurrence" or "the inability to be done". She was _certain_ that there was not a single witch, wizard or any other magical being be it a house elf or goblin in existence that would ever say that summoning a Quidditch broom from hundreds of feet away while falling to your death wordlessly and without a wand was even _remotely_ possible.

But he did it all the same. And all she could do was gawk, the broom had shot after him like a Muggle bullet, by some amazing feat he had managed to do the impossible, grabbing on to his broom he swung himself around and landed on his feet while still riding his broom. The crowd was ready to riot, that was the level of sheer jubilation that swept through the stadium. After the Minister of Magic announced England would be moving on for the World Cup, all the Seeker did was slowly fly throughout the stands to roaring applause as he went around waving with one hand as he held the snitch in the other. He had invented 'Broom Surfing' that day and even if he was the only person both crazy enough to attempt it – no one would ever forget it.

So Bagman's gambit came through and the Ministry started boasting every chance they got that their plan had worked, citing that their new star seeker had no history of playing professionally & hadn't ever attended one their tryouts before leading them to claim they'd never have found him otherwise, if it hadn't been for their daring plan. The typically incompetent Ministry workers must have been over the moon to finally get to gloat over the fact they actually had done something right for once, apparently forgetting that the rest of team was rather pathetic and Scotland and Wales had done even worse than usual.

These were the thoughts of Rosaline Potter as she fixed her clothes after enduring today's family outing, today was the day of the final and her parents had decided to make a big deal out of it. They were to wake up at the crack of dawn, get ready, wait for Uncle Moony to show up, Floo to the Burrow, wait for Hermione to show up, meet the Diggorys, Luna and her father then take a Portkey to the stadium.

Now, after grabbing on to an old smelly boot and falling flat on her face in front of her friends and Hufflepuff's Quidditch Captain – they were finally here.

Mister Weasley herded them all together and they headed out to the campsite to find their own tents as individual family groups with Hermione sleeping over with her inside the Potter tent, that coincidentally had three bedrooms, a kitchen, two full baths and a coat rack.

After a nice evening playing Exploding Snap with her family, her best friend and their dog Snuffles, they retired for the night early, all anxious for the exciting day ahead.

* * *

The next day after eating the Mum's breakfast, they regrouped with the Weasleys and Lovegoods, though Xenophilius apparently had to leave early to interview Bagman on the topic of how much his decision to do away with conventional scouting methods was influenced by Heliopaths, and if he stood by said decision.

Though they didn't quite manage in finding the Diggorys again in the chaos preceding the World Cup, she did run into a little boy screaming at his mother that she had "Busted slug!". She'd also had a chat with Oliver, the old Gryffindor Quidditch Captain and had been happy to hear he'd been signed to the Puddlemere United reserve team, though he did seem a tad regretful he hadn't put it off a year there by missing his chance to try out for England as he was vehement he could wipe the floor with their current Keeper who had only skidded through by the skin of his teeth thanks to the Seeker.

She even saw Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw reserve Seeker; she looked stunning, so much so that she could barely manage a wave back to the prettier girl, after nearly choking on the Pumpkin Juice she had been drinking at the time.

Eventually, they managed to get to the stadium entrance and ended up having to spend the better part of an hour meeting & greeting Ministry workers, people her dad worked with, people who knew her mum from school, Mr. Weasley's acquaintances, but most of the people were just strangers foaming at the mouth to lay their eyes on the famous Girl-Who-Lived.

Not the least of whom was Ludo Bagman himself, who interestingly enough hadn't pestered them but made bets instead, Mr. Weasley put one Galleon on England to win, Dad had put a hundred on England to both win and catch the Snitch, then he got smacked upside the head again by Mum for setting a bad example, but the bet still stood, even the twins got in on the action by putting up what was probably their life savings of thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, three Knuts and a fake wand on Viktor Krum catching the Snitch with England winning, at first that sounded like a strange bet until the twins shared their reasoning with her, they figured the match would be similar to England vs. Transylvania, leaving Krum free roam. She tried to get her two-Knuts in that England would catch the Snitch regardless of who won the match – dual glares from Mum and Hermione dissuaded her.

After that little piece of theatre, she thought Percy was going to burst into flames in excitement, gushing over how many languages Barty Crouch could speak, "Over two hundred! Mermish and Gobbledegook and Troll…" apparently Percy couldn't speak dog or else he would have heard Snuffles growling in hatred over that pencil pusher who stuck him in Azkaban without a trial.

She didn't really bother with paying much attention to her father's and Mr. Weasley's conversation with Bagman about a missing Ministry worker though even Snuffles thought it was funny when Crouch did show up and both told Bagman off and called Percy 'Weatherby'. They left Mr. Weasley and Percy with Crouch & Bagman when they started to discuss potential future legislation regarding the legality of revoking the embargo on magic carpets...

Once they entered the arena they were swarmed by a horde of locusts, otherwise known as salesmen. Pawning off all manner of merchandise for the World Cup, hats, badges, Bulgarian scarves with actual roaring lions, English jerseys with burning phoenixes flying around the torso, "Probably a modified Bluebell Flames Charm." Hermione freely provided when she turned to her with a questioning look on her face, there were even model Firebolts and collectible player figurines for sale.

But by a wide margin, the title of best seller was held by the 'Guy Fawkes Mask: English Seeker Edition' which was no surprise to her with seemingly half the people in the stadium wearing one. See while England did have a new superstar Seeker – no one actually knew who he was except maybe the upper echelons of the British government... so basically just Bagman, Fudge and perhaps Dumbledore (well if Fudge knew). The reason his identity was a secret laid in the fact he always wore this weird mask with a green lightning bolt on the right side of his forehead. Mum had told her the mask was from a Muggle historical figure who wanted to keep his anonymity so along with that came her suspicion that England's new Seeker was in fact; a Muggle-born.

Of course, not everyone was happy with not knowing who he was but there was little they could do about it except complain. In fact; the only reason people thought he was a 'he' in the first place was because he said so and even that might be a ruse, what with him using a voice-altering charm. So a lot of people wanted him to reveal his identity but he had refused, they tried to make him do tests but all they were able to figure out was that he was indeed the same person who had tried out for National team in August.

Some people speculated he was actually a professional player trying to get past the World Cup ban with help from the Department of Games and Sport. But that didn't make much sense to her because;

#1: The Ministry were the ones who imposed the ban in the first place and Guy Fawkes' identity was known by them at least.

#2: If they were going to make one anonymous exception, they might have well as done so for the whole team, not just the Seeker, Merlin knows it would have helped.

#3: She vaguely remembered hearing her dad mention recognizing the mask and being a pure-blood, he never would have ran into it in the Muggle world.

Mum and Dad got English jerseys and these big red & white top hats for all the kids… and Dad. Ron bought for himself a Bulgarian scarf, a Viktor Krum figure and a Fawkes mask.

She herself took particular pride in her Guy Fawkes figure, it had been a gift from her brother that she had gotten on her birthday weeks before having apparently been signed by the man himself. Surprisingly the charmed action-figure was still kicking, it sat on her shoulder blasély ridiculing the Krum figure with jests of how badly he was about to be defeated while showering him in japes of being 'short', 'stubby' and made of less than stellar materials were as all the Krum figure would do is frown and look " _really grumpy_ " much to her satisfaction and Ron's dismay.

She'd noticed this sort of thing a lot, her Fawkes figure would give her counsel & directions, make observations and offer helpful advice; she thought it was an incredible toy but it seemed as if hers was the only one that worked like that. Like a little confidante or maybe whatever her mum told her about something like a cricket on her shoulder which she didn't understand in the least despite her mother finding it rather hilarious like the crazy person she obviously was.

Mum & Dad had gotten Fawkes figures as well, Dad's seemed to be boasting about his prowess as a world-class Seeker and while she wasn't entirely certain what her mother's was saying, whatever it was had her blushing and giggling like a school girl causing Dad to try and hex the toy but it seemed to be two steps ahead of her father and swan dived into Mum's bag. Amusingly, her Dad's figure was agreeing with him that his counterpart was both a charlatan and a pig, deserving of being destroyed all the while attempting to assist its brethren in the face of imminent destruction by distracting its owner.

She bought Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Luna Omnioculars under the guise of Christmas gifts, whereas she had brought her own with her for the game. Hermione had made sure to grab as many programs as humanly possible so everyone would have their own. They met up with the other Weasleys and continued to their seats.

* * *

Purchases in hand, Dad led them down the lantern-lit trail, the roars of the crowd were deafening, blotting out any other noise that might have echoed through the narrow passageways to the stands. The atmosphere dominating the entire arena was one of feverish excitement, which even managed to infect her as she found she couldn't wipe the grin off her face.

Dad had got his hands on 'a prime spot' almost an entire year ago, ensuring good seats and making sure they didn't get the boot if they sold out – which they did. They were in a box at the very top of the stadium, overlooking the action below from a bird's eye view.

The box had about thirty purple and gold velvet chairs in a two rows, the scene below was one she could have scarce imagined, never actually have been inside the stadium before, having watched the earlier matches on her Omnioculars with Dad. Being here now, it was definitely an experience to remember. A hundred thousand witches and wizards taking their places, in the seemingly never-ending ocean of seats stretching around the long oval shaped pitch.

The pitch itself was enormous, with the fifty feet high goal posts on each side just a smidge below her eye level, the grass seemed to glisten in the artificial golden light and looked to be as soft as velvet, which was deceiving in a way, she knew with the speed that you could reach on a quality broom; you could crash into honey and still break bones.

Straight across from her was a gigantic blackboard with gold writing dashing across its side to side as if an invisible hand was scrawling all over it and then erasing it all just to start over it, the thing kept flashing advertisements across the field for all manner of things; Butterbeer, Pumpkin Juice, Gringotts, Nimbus Broom Company even stuff like 'Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover', she hadn't missed the thoughtful looks that came onto Mrs. Weasley and Mum's faces when the phrase "No Pain, No Stain!" had been spoken, Luna had a peculiar look on her face as well but it was there both before and after the ad.

Shortly after a strange House-elf had appeared which she first assumed to be Dobby but after careful scrutiny learned it was in fact a female named 'Winky' who was saving a seat for her master, the Elf in question did seem adamant that she too knew Dobby and they briefly discussed his new life free of the Malfoys and his subsequent employment by her older brother, it seemed he was content with his lot though Winky reiterated that 'House-elves is not 'sposed to be getting paid' but that she was still pleased her friend was happy.

Ron soon found a use for his Omnioculars in the form of making the elderly pick their noses… Hermione while skimming through her pamphlet mentioned that there would be a display by the team's mascots before the game started, Mr. Weasley agreed that it would be quite the spectacle with each of the National Teams featuring magical creatures from their native lands.

After a short while the box had filled out with VIPs that her parents and Mr & Mrs. Weasley kept shaking hands with, when Fudge arrived Percy had rushed to meet him as if he was standing on a pit of hot coals, the prat ended up bowing so low his glasses fell off and shattered. Padfoot was seething at the incompetent career idio... politician who had nearly had him given the Dementor's kiss once again without giving him a trial or even listening to her and friends, it was a testament to his love of Quidditch that he even decided to come, well that and the fact he hated Grimmauld Place with a passion.

The Minister went on to introduce the Bulgarian Minister to her family (in a show of the utmost grace and tact) by first mispronouncing his name, reassuring them not to worry about as it seemed neither of them could understand the other, moving on in the introductions by failing to introduce her as the 'girl who survived You-Know-Who' until the foreign world leader seemed to recognize her by that damnable S-shaped scar on her forehead. Fudge finished on a high note in her opinion by calling the Bulgarian delegation to promote international unity via the medium of sport: "Blighters".

Interestingly enough, while the Minister couldn't understand the Bulgarian Minister, Fawkes (she decided to refer the little man on her arm as) could and with her urging he translated for her, once again she noticed that it was only her Fawkes that did so, not even Ron's Krum seemed able to make heads or tails of it. Apparently, the Bulgarian Minister could indeed speak English just fine and was simply pulling the wool over Fudge's eyes while joking about it to his aides, in particular; he seemed to find Fudge's insults toward him the funniest part of the whole joke. Not one to ruin somebody's fun, she opted to sit back and enjoy the show while Fawkes gave a play-by-play.

When it rains, it pours and when Fudge is around so too is that blond pounce Malfoy, his no good offspring and what she supposed was the foul wretch that must have been his mother, she didn't know Narcissa Malfoy personally yet the thought of changing that did not appeal to her in the slightest, thoroughly convinced that whatever horrible monster had spawned Draco was evil in its own right.

The contestants for the spots of her third and fourth worst enemies managed to keep things civil all things considered in a room filled with two Muggle-borns, blood-traitors, half-bloods and even a werewolf, settling with just to make snide remarks about the Weasleys humble lifestyle, not so subtle threats to her father, and sneering at Hermione, Mum and Remus. She took solace in the fact she knew that made Malfoy a coward as he wouldn't dare say anything in front of their inept Minister.

Smirking, she thought he would probably be shaking his boots if her older brother was here, but frowned when the thought of her brother's absence crossed her mind. She hadn't really seen much of her brother this summer especially these last few weeks with the exception of her birthday when he made it a point to spend the whole day with her doing whatever she wanted. Though the more she thought about it, she didn't really know much about her brother, for years she thought it was her brother acting cool and aloof, purposely avoiding her and their family but now… she wasn't sure.

Hadrian James Potter had been born on August, 1st, 1976 to James Potter I and Lily Potter née Evans. Newlyweds who had just finished their time at Hogwarts. Due to their youth and inexperience with child rearing, this left young Harry mostly under the care of his paternal grandparents Dorea Potter née Black and Charlus Potter. Four years later she was born Rosaline Lily Potter the day before her brother's birthday, but by then her father had become a successful Auror and her mother had just finished her Mediwitch apprenticeship at St. Mungo's so they were now able to take break from their careers to join the Order of the Phoenix in an effort to fight Voldemort and look after her.

When she was only a year old, on Halloween night while her parents were in London attending an Order meeting, Voldemort himself broke into the Potter estate, murdered her grandparents and attempted to do so for her only to fail in killing her and perished himself, thus, she was hailed throughout the Wizarding World as the Girl-Who-Lived leaving her with the infamous serpentine scar that marked her as such which no amount of cosmetic charms or healing spells seemed able to get rid of.

After the so-called 'Incident at Stinchcombe' her family withdrew on itself, isolating themselves from the public at large that was celebrating the downfall of Voldemort & his evil reign and also foaming at the mouth in want of a piece of her, while her family was in mourning as well as struggling with the betrayal of a dear friend they had trusted with their lives.

A week after the attack on her family, her godmother Alice Longbottom and her husband Frank were also attacker and though they weren't killed during the assault they did end up in a St. Mungo's ward with crippling spell damage from the Cruciatus Curse courtesy of Bellatrix Lestrange, her husband, his brother and Barty Crouch Junior. Mum tried her best to get custody of Neville because she was his godmother as well but Lady Augusta wanted to keep whatever remained of her son so she was able to circumvent the usual protocol of adhering to the parent's will… it certainly didn't hurt that the Lady Longbottom had been sitting on the Wizengamot for decades since the passing of her late husband.

Her parents had chosen Godric's Hallow as their residence after things had finally settled down, partly because they didn't want to live at the Potter Estate due to the bad memories and partly because it was a village that had both a wizarding and Muggle community living in the same place, together. It just seemed to mesh with their heritage, her father being a pure-blooded wizard while her mother was a first generation witch who didn't want her children to grow up ignorant of all-things-Muggle.

Growing up she didn't have much interaction with the world outside their home in Godric's Hallow, her parents lived in perpetual fear that she would be scarred for life if something were to happen when they were beset by strangers wanting to fawn over her where ever she went no matter if it was Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, witches and wizards of all colour would flock to her like vultures.

As such she didn't have many friends, those few times she was allowed to leave the property it was always with chaperones so she could only visit those few children whose parents who were acquainted with her parents and could interact with regularly. She never really develop any relationships with Muggle kids because it wasn't like she could invite one of them over to her house just to have to Obliviate them when they saw the dishes doing themselves.

Her list of friends was comprised basically solely of Weasleys and Luna, she had several acquaintances that she wouldn't exactly count as friends but had played with them as children a few times like Neville even if his Gran rarely let him leave his house, and some other girls like Susan Bones & Hannah Abbot.

Her brother didn't have many friends either in her opinion, there was that girl with weird pink hair that she had a feint recollection of but hadn't actually seen in years. Whenever they visited the Weasleys he would try to spend most of his time with the twins who were usually grounded for some prank they had perpetrated or something else equally nefarious, so he usually ended up avoiding the older brothers Bill and Charlie for some reason unknown to her. Both of them as a rule; avoided Percy at all costs because of how much of a tattletale he was.

She had first met Ginny when she was about six or seven, they became fast friends quickly allying against the Weasley brothers who would deny them the right to play with them leading to many a confrontation with Ron who required several demonstrations that a witch could do whatever a wizard could, or rather she could do whatever Ron could and in that case – usually much better. Her own brother had stood behind her in these altercations but she was too young to take notice of the fact that Harry was isolating himself from his peers by siding with little girls instead of the older, cooler boys, nor did she notice the ridicule he endured from them for believing a girl could play Quidditch just as well as they could or his desire that they be allowed to participate in their own shenanigans.

Luna Lovegood soon joined herself and Ginny in their _adventures_ , adding her own unique perspective on things on their quests of climbing the trees and exploring the fields of Ottery St. Catchpole, once again she did so in ignorance of her elder brother watching over from afar as the little tyke version of her managed to get up to all sorts of mischief, be it the pesky gnomes that tried to trip her and friends up or keeping them safely away from the ghoul in the Burrow's attic.

The concept of family was never a big deal in her life. Of course, there was Mum & Dad but they filled the roles of caregivers, they weren't so much as family as they were _her_ parents. Both her sets of grandparents had passed before she had the chance to know them and her father was an only child. The final proof in her mind that familial kinship wasn't something to fuss overcame personified in the form of her aunt and cousin, Petunia and Dudley. Disgusting people, it was no wonder people hated Muggles if that was how they behaved.

Admittedly she spent most of her time was spent being spoiled by her adoring parents, she had never wanted for anything growing up, being showered in gifts on all manner of occasions, she'd never really noticed how opulent her lifestyle was until she met the Weasleys, now it only made her feel uncomfortable. Birthdays, Holidays, weekends, vacations, from when she woke up and started the day with her mum, the time of day from when her dad got off work till her bedtime, all of it, was her time. Whatever she wanted to do, her parents did it, whatever she wanted, her parents got it for her, if she wanted to have a tea party then her parents would drop whatever they were doing and sit.

As such she had never really felt the need for sibling companionship as the small amounts of time away from her parents were saved for when she would adjourn to her room and spend some alone time entertaining herself with her vast collection of toys and costumes, her favourite being her practice broom that would hover only two feet above the ground that she nevertheless adored and would ride every chance she got.

Nor did she really desire any sort of relationship with her brother. According to Ginny, "brothers were prats" that would annoy and bully her, so because of that she believed she had lucked out as she spent very little time with him, next to none if you discounted the time they were around together with their parents. This lead to her brother being informally delegated to the position of 'person who lives in the same house and occasionally interacts with me', it wasn't as if her parents went out of their way to include him in their activities, there was also the ever-present danger of cooties that her childhood friends had made her aware of, with Ginny concurring with her hypothesis that brothers were carriers of the crippling disease as they fit the bill of being boys.

While she didn't have many memories from her childhood of her brother that she, for the most part, avoided, it didn't mean those memories of him she did have were not cherished now that she was older and far more mature.

He'd always went out of his way to make sure she was happy whenever he was tasked with taking care of her, in those few times her parents wanted a day off or had to attend public events and they couldn't find a babysitter, he was given the chore of looking after his little sister when he became old enough to do so.

Again, while she didn't have many memories of him, those few were increasingly precious. For example, one time he put on a small one-man Muggle magic show with a twist for her, in where he had sawed her in half and proceeded to show her own spine to her, levitated in front of her very eyes, pulled a Galleon out of her ear, but the topper must have been when he pulled a rabbit out of his hat, turned into a rabbit himself, then the rabbit pulled him out of a hat.

There were a lot of little things she had taken for granted of too, if she woke up before her parents he would take her hand and ask about her dreams the night before while he made her a treacle tart for breakfast, tucking her in and reading bedtime stories like 'Babbitty Rabbitty and Cackling Stump' and 'The Wizard and the Hopping Pot' to her before she drifted off to sleep, taking the training Charms off her practice broom, comforting her when she thought she was an evil witch the first time she met a snake, taking the blame for her mistakes growing up, even the time she accidentally blew Uncle Vernon up and he got grounded for four months.

Like most things in her life she hadn't realized how easy her life had been up until Hogwarts, sheltered and privileged, she wasn't sure if she had even ever been truly sad before, she was sure if someone told her when she was ten that her brother was dead, she wouldn't have cared, she was ashamed to say. Just a spoiled brat with not a care in the world doing whatever she wanted without a thought to who she harmed or whose feelings she hurt. Most of the time she forgot the fact that she even had a brother, she definitely never felt like she needed him or wanted him around at all… what a fool she'd been.

It happened the day she turned eleven, the year she was bound to start Hogwarts, while most children her age were excited to go off to school, unable to reign in their enthusiasm over receiving their acceptance letter, bursting at the seams to journey to Diagon Alley in order to buy their school supplies. She was not most children.

She was different, she had been terrified, the idea of leaving her home for most of the year, leaving her parents, having to sleep in a dormitory with other, unfamiliar girls (where she hadn't even slept over at a friend's house before, friends she had known before she could even remember not knowing them) having to face hordes of strangers on a daily basis, all the while trying to meet her parent's academic expectations coupled with keeping her ego in check – it absolutely horrified her.

Mum & Dad didn't seem to notice, they remained blissfully unaware of what a state she was in, to be fair she had been trying to put a brave face for them so they wouldn't worry about while she away, even if the kid in her was screaming out for them to comfort her and belay her anxiety. While she panicked, they reminisced about their own school days; the countless pranks her father had pulled, the long days her mother spent in the library, constantly telling her stories of the teachers, their friends, the classes and usually ending in one of their "Head Boy & Girl epic romance" stories. It certainly didn't help knowing she might be sorted into Slytherin because of her Parselmouth ability, all the while as her parents kept telling her about how much she would love everything about Gryffindor from the common room to her Head of House, so it wasn't like she was frightened to death that she would disappoint them on her first day at school or anything.

No one seemed to understand, not Mrs. Weasley who was also certain she'd be sorted into the house of the brave, not Uncle Moony who only had fond memories of a simpler time, not Ron who didn't seem to realize the fact she would only know one person at Hogwarts and he was a boy, not even Ginny who was jealous of her of being able to go to Hogwarts a year earlier than her. No one understood… no one, except him.

On the day of her Eleventh Birthday, while her parents were fawning over her with her Hogwart's letter, talking about all the supplies, robes and books she was going to need and how exciting the thought of her getting a wand must be for her, Harry had pulled her aside, hugged her and wished her a Happy Birthday then gave her his gift. A beautiful Snowy Owl, a nigh endless box of owl treats, a manual on how to best take care of her pet, a perch, an enchanted cage that would simulate the day & night cycle like the ceiling at Hogwarts, and even a brace so the now amply named 'Hedwig' could rest on her arm. He told her she could use her to write Mum & Dad whenever she wanted and her new friend would always bring her care packages from home.

He reassured her that he would always be there for her and she could come to him for anything, be it at school or otherwise whenever she felt like it. She wasn't fully aware of it at the time because those words came from her estranged brother, but she went to the Weasleys for her party that day much relieved of the stress that had been tearing her apart.

It wouldn't be until years later that she noticed she had spent the entire next day with her parents buying her school supplies in Diagon Alley while her brother was left at home by himself to his own devices on the first of August.

She was taken out of her thoughts when Fudge got up and walked toward the podium as he began to announce the beginning of the World Cup Final.

* * *

Tune in next time for the exciting conclusion!

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 **List of changes( _You might not have noticed, but your brain did_ ):**

 **1.** Lily and James are ALIVE! No big deal, it's not like they ever died... don't let anybody tell you different.

 **2.** Harry Potter was born in Aug 1st '76. 'Why?' you may ask. Because it is necessary to my plot.

 **3.** Harry has a sister, her name is Rosaline Lily Potter as you may or may not have taken from the previous work. It is my dearest hope that she doesn't share the fate of so as so many other OCs have before her, that is I'm trying to make sure she doesn't come across as a Mary Sue, Self-Insert, or worst of all 'Prop Fluff'. *(this is the term I use to refer to incredibly annoying OCs whose only purpose in stories are to fill a role, have no personality whatsoever and are only used to participate in stupid, cliched banter with an actual character) In essence, the canonical character Harry Potter has been split in half between 'Hadrian' and 'Rosaline', where they differ from him is all my own brew.

 **4.** James's parents didn't die of Dragon Pox.

 **5.** James's parents are Charlus and Dorea Potter as opposed to canon, the reason being is because it establishes ties to House Black, thereby justifying Sirius' relationship with the Potters as well as providing me an excuse for Harry and Nymphadora having known each other as children. This was really easy to change as the only reason J.K.R named Harry's paternal grandparents in the first place was because she arbitrarily wanted characters with the names 'Euphemia and Fleamont'. Not to mention it is altogether more interesting this way. By the way, this is certainly most not canon, it is a trope, but admittedly an interesting trope and one I shall unabashedly be using in my story.


	2. World Cup Worries

**Kalends of August**

 **First of all, I would like to thank everyone who took the time to review my story, I appreciate the feedback and I'm glad you all liked it. Also thanks to everyone who decided to follow and/or favourite, it helps people find my story and thus feeds my soul.**

 **F.Y.I, you don't need to read this, but if you want to know more about this story, you should** **;**

 **I will be very inconsistent with the length of chapters I put out, no joke, like 1-15 thousand words, that being said I will try to keep it somewhere between 4-8, the important thing to me is that I get what I want on paper before moving on. That being said, I will never post 'updates' as a chapter, which is against site rules as well as total bullshit.**

 **Something you need to understand about my writing style is that I am very prone to going off on tangents, I am not the balls to the wall kind of writer; don't expect action-packed sections at every turn. I enjoy cultivating my plots and characters, I am the kind of person who enjoys seeing characters develop and when the time comes for the action, I will have a vested interest in those characters and will be able to feel the tension in the situation. The P.O.V is also pretty convoluted, but shouldn't confuse anyone… hopefully.**

 **This story is for the long haul, Rowling had deadlines and a limited amount of story to work with, I don't have those problems, so I can extrapolate where ever I want, and I definitely plan on doing just that. As to how much I will be sticking to canon, well, that is the blueprint, but as I change things, more and more will you be able to recognize the differences, because I definitely won't be going out of my way to see things that happened in canon happen in my story, sans some exceptions.**

 **Tone, I like how in J.K.R's novels she changes the feel of her story quite often from light-hearted, fluffy moments to very dark and bleak. I'm going for the same thing here, one minute everything will be smooth sailing and funny and then all of a sudden everything will turn dark and suspenseful.**

 **Rosaline is my OC, she is not going to be cookie-cutter, she is going to have her own personality, her own identity, she's not just Harry's sister or a FemHarry, she is her own unique character, she has her own set of talents and flaws, her own interests and outlook on the world. So you can bet on seeing a lot of her in early on, so you can catch a glimpse at who she is from the beginning.**

 **I have a tendency to constantly go back to my chapters and edit them for spelling and grammar mistakes, the reason being I hate spelling errors in stories but when I write I tend to go into the wee hours of the night, so when I finally update, the only editing I've done with it is when I'm dead tired. Therefore, you may find it beneficial to wait before reading a chapter or going back to it in the future, because I add stuff kind of obnoxiously.**

 **I had this chapter ready to be put out yesterday, but I didn't feel like doing it on the day Alan Rickman passed. We've lost an amazing actor and an amazing human being.**

* * *

 **Chapter 2 – World Cup Worries**

 **Trillenium Stadium – Rosaline Potter**

As Fudge strutted up to the podium, full of pomp and quite pleased with himself in his fancy pinstriped suit that looked as though it was about to burst at the seams with the addition of his little portly body. Fixing the lime green bowler on his tiny head, he rummaged through his coat pocket and pulled out his wand. Pointing it toward his throat he muttered the incantation " _Sonorous_!" and his voice instantly began to bellow throughout the entire stadium, in every nook and cranny, the echo of his voice overpowering all the other noise in the arena. She'd have been mildly impressed if Dumbledore didn't do it regularly at Hogwarts for the mundane task of quieting a room full of schoolchildren, _without_ the use of his wand or the incantation, she brushed off the small feeling of guilt of comparing anyone's magical prowess to Albus Dumbledore when she remembered Fudge, was in fact; the Minister of Magic.

"Good evening" came the booming Fudge's voice "as Minister for Magic" 'couldn't resist it seems' "it gives me great pleasure to welcome, each and every one of you to the final of the 422nd Quidditch World Cup!" A thunder of applause and cheering followed his opening, the last of the advertisements faded off the giant blackboard finishing with 'Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans – A Risk With Every Mouthful' bringing a bad memory of hers when she had eaten a vomit flavoured jelly bean, then proceeded to make all the other beans in her box tasted like that as well.

"Now, let us all rise, and partake in singing the National Anthems of both **ENGLAND** and Bulgaria, _respectively_." All the stands in the stadium seemed to transform into a massive viewing screen, an enormous swaying Union Jack came into focus along with the lyrics to 'God Save the Queen'.

Tens of thousands of British witches and wizards were on their feet with their hands over their hearts devoid of headwear either mumbling or shouting the words in disjointed unison. Not a great deal of the wizarding world adhered to the Christian religion nor did any of them really believe they answered to the Queen of England, but by Merlin did they ever like to sing loudly and proudly.

The Ministerial box was apparently filled with patriots, as not a one of Her Majesty's servants was sitting, her family, the Weasleys, the Malfoys, all of them joined in, even Luna (though admittedly she was singing 'Double, Double' and not the ode to their monarch).

Dad, Moony and the twins were all screaming out the verse;

"Confound their politics,

Frustrate their knavish tricks,

On Thee our hopes we fix:

God save us all." over and over again, _forgetting_ all the other the stanzas while unblinkingly not looking away from Minister Fudge or his compatriots, Snuffles was joining in by howling madly. Even Mum and Hermione had to refrain themselves from laughing at the red faced Fudge trying to carry on, all the while sputtering like an old man yelling at children to get off his lawn.

The Fawkes figures were no less enthusiastic, all having taken a knee and formed an amusing choir, trying their bests to sing the song through a mask with no mouth hole.

Next up, were the Bulgarians, they were fewer in number amongst the great crowd in the arena as one might expect with the World Cup being held in Devon, but they were no less proud of their place in the championship and responded with all their might.

The Bulgarian Minister and his cabinet were all on their feet, some of whom were even crying, as either Fred or George pointed out to her. The Viktor Krum figure on Ron's shoulder didn't say a word nor did the scowl fade from his face, but he was standing with his fist clutched painfully on his chest.

The Fawkes figures were running around blowing raspberries at the Bulgarians, or stealing bits of their clothing like their nation's scarves and hats, some of them taking the chance to ambush the Krum figures while their owners were busy. Much to the dismay of everyone in the box, the Bulgarians were outraged they were being attacked so heinously and the English were humiliated by their kinsmen's actions… well, there was a certain group of pranksters who seemed rather pleased by the development. All of them were having a go, all of them, except hers, her Fawkes figure though he seemed non-pulsed by the turmoil surrounding them, remained fixed on her shoulder and instead of joining his brethren in the chaos, decided to teach her some Bulgarian, translating the anthem word for word. She had to say the song was actually quite beautiful, he told her the name of the song was 'Dear Motherland' and in her opinion appeared to enjoy relaying it to her English;

"Proud Balkan Mountains,

Next to it the Danube sparkles,

The sun shines over Thrace,

And blazes over Pirin.

Dear Motherland,

You are heaven on Earth,

Your beauty, your loveliness,

Ah, they are boundless."

Admittedly, she found the song to be far more meaningful and heartfelt than England's which seemed to be propaganda piece for some old lady she'd never met, when she mentioned it to the figurine on her shoulder, he amazingly agreed and regaled her with a story of when in his youth he journeyed to a Bulgarian beach on the Black Sea with a traveling band of Romani only to be accosted by a coven of Transylvanian Vampires who desired the blood of one of the Veela in their party, only to be thwarted a spell he had created that imitated the effects of sunlight, even going out of his way to teach her the wand movements and incantation. Hermione seemed entranced with the prospect of learning such a spell and quickly materialized beside her, a swish, flick and an 'Apricum Radius' later and boom, another charm in her arsenal.

Her Fawkes figure's actions seemed to calm the atmosphere of the room down substantially, especially when he stunned one of the rebellious figurines making the others submit and return to their owners, Minister Fudge looked at her gratefully for some reason then returned to the podium.

Coughing a few times into his hand, recasting the spell, the Minister addressed the crowd again "And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce you all… the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!"

Everyone ran over to the rail, nudging against each other carelessly, crowding together in order to see what was about to happen. "Hmm, I wonder what they've brought," said Mr. Weasley as he leaned forward over the railing. "Ah hah," he exclaimed before whipping off his glasses and polishing them in a hurry " _Veela_."

The right-hand of the stands erupted with roars of approval, making that entire block look like an angry red pimple about to pop.

She chastised herself for not inquiring what exactly a 'Veela' was earlier during Fawkes' story, but before she could ask again, her unasked question was answered.

A swarm of figures glided onto the field like goddesses and for now, there were no more questions in her mind (or much of anything going on up there at the present moment). Veela were women… the most beautiful, immaculate women she had ever laid eyes on… except that they weren't – they couldn't be – human?

They were more than human, the fair creatures shone like the moon in a starry night with their spun white-gold hair fanning out behind their supple, pastel skin without even a breeze. As she pondered what incredible magic must have come into play in creating these magnificent muses, all of a sudden the music started… and she didn't care anymore – in fact, she stopped caring about anything else besides the enchanting sight below her.

The cadre of roughly one-hundred veela had begun to dance, and her mind had gone blank, totally and blissfully blank. All that mattered in the world now was that she kept watching them, because if they stopped dancing, terrible things would surely happen…

As the veela danced faster and faster, wild, half-formed thoughts started chasing through her addled mind. She wanted to do something impressive at this very moment, something to get their attention for even a moment. Jumping out of the box onto the pitch, stealing a broom and catching the Snitch for their side seemed like an excellent idea… but would it be good enough?

"Rose, what _are_ you doing?" said Hermione's voice from a long way off.

"Nothing, Ms. Granger, just ignore her, she just wants a better view is all." came the curt rebuke of Fawkes from the same faraway place of her shoulder.

The music stopped. She blinked, what _had_ she been doing, it seemed like she'd been climbing the guard rail, one of her feet resting on the metal fence separating her from the sirens below. Next to her, Ron was frozen in a pose that looked as though he was about to swan dive from a springboard into the stadium, the twins both had big dopey grins on their faces and seemed to be shuffling in place, Moony and Padfoot seemed disconcerted by something, sniffing the air angrily, Dad was getting chewed out by Mum for what she assumed was his latest blunder, Luna looked even more spaced out than usual, and Hermione was giving her a rather odd curious, questioning expression.

Angry yells started to fill the stadium, it appeared the crowd didn't want the veela to go, and she was with them 100%, of course as would every true daughter of Mother Bulgaria, she wondered vaguely why she was wearing an English jersey with a dirty old phoenix flying around on it. Meanwhile, Ron had begun to absent-mindedly tear his Fawkes mask off his face before trying to shred his jersey while Mrs. Weasley was guffawing at her youngest son for destroying his gifts from her parents.

Hermione tutted loudly making her turn toward her best friend who looked different than before in her opinion, "What was that about?" she asked her in an inquisitive tone while she gazed at her strangely.

"Hmm." was her own response.

Before an angry Hermione could ask her question again, she was cut off by the voice on her shoulder "Are they truly so beautiful?" asked Fawkes.

Hermione closed her mouth and adopted a pensive expression, "What do you mean?" she asked of her conscience.

"The way you were all gawking at the veela" seeing her nod, he continued "Are they really that attractive in your eyes?"

Both her and her best friend looked surprised at that question, but it was Hermione who answered "Is that a rhetorical question?" gesturing to the retreating forms of the veela "They're _gorgeous_." she finished then started to fidget with her robes, probably thinking about how 'plain' she thought she looked, if she knew Hermione as well as she thought she did.

"Really?" Fawkes asked, again.

"Yes, really," she said exasperatedly "are you blind or something?"

"I could ask you the same." he countered, she scoffed and gave him a hard look, he continued "Their appearances don't appeal to me."

"Why not?" Hermione asked shyly.

"They are very bright."

"Bright?" she queried confusedly "How are they bright?"

Fawkes shook his head "There very skin seems to glow, it's like looking directly into the sun - it hurts my eyes." he answered while trying to rub his eyes through his mask.

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"Not necessarily, the brightest lights cast the darkest shadows." both Hermione and herself looked at Fawkes urging him to continue "it reminds me of a moth being drawn to a flame or a siren's beacon, I don't like this feeling, it's as if I shouldn't trust them, that they're hiding something – something dangerous, they make me want to go away… I don't like being coerced, they frighten me."

As the two girls were unpacking what Fawkes had told them, wondering if there was something more to the veela, perhaps of a sinister nature, Ron had to chime in "Pfft… you're probably just a poof." she glared at her ginger friend, who didn't seem to notice her death stare, she sighed and let it go. Hermione however, did not.

"RONALD WEASLEY!" she winced as she heard her best friend begin to chew her male counterpart "first of all, do you have any inkling how rude it is to speak to people like that. Secondly, just because he wasn't drooling like a dog like you doesn't make him anything and even if he was, you have no right-"

While Hermione and the rest of the stadium were bustling with rage (albeit, one was lecturing her friend on social etiquette and the others were ticked off their eye candy had left) Fudge had once again made his way to the podium.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome – the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team!"

Just like that, seven scarlet-clad figures on broomsticks shot out onto the field from deep below the regular entrance, moving so fast they blurred to the wild applause of the Bulgarians.

Following them came Ludo Bagman's introductions of each player along with the corresponding close-ups on a makeshift screen appearing on the stands, strange really, the wizarding world didn't have a television equivalent but they did have one hell of a jumbotron.

"Bulgaria's Keeper: Lev Zograf!" came the giant moving portrait of a bulky brunette with a head like a bulldog.

Next came a beautiful pale-faced woman with shocking red hair and exotic eyes of the same colour "Chaser: Clara Ivanova!"

Four more names later like 'Dimitrov', 'Volkov' and 'Levski', and out popped their last player, but before Bagman could announce the last player, Ron burst out shouting "That's him, that's him! It's Viktor Krum!"

Bulgaria's Seeker came onto the screen to the deafening cries of " **Krum, Krum, Krum!** " including from the Weasley brothers, Hermione was less than impressed by their outburst. As the crowd was cheering for the superstar she appraised the teenage prodigy, he had thin build and sallow skin, his face was completed with a large curved nose like a hawk and thick bushy eyebrows, all in all, she thought he looked more like an overgrown bird of prey rather than an eighteen-year-old, he certainly didn't possess a youthful look or a boyish smile… quite the opposite.

She decided the Bulgarian team looked the part, rather intimidating in her opinion, what she thought the Slytherin team aspired to be like, even if they didn't quite match up with their mascots' incomparable beauty and grace.

"And now, please greet, our very own – the English National Team Mascot" once again Fudge's voice rang out.

The screen changed again, this time to the top of the Trillenium Stadium, devoid of any life, at first, she thought there had been technical difficulties but a shadowy figure was approaching and the closer it got, the more she was able to make out, by the time it got within feet from the edge she recognized it as the life-size version of the figurine sitting on her shoulder.

There, standing on the roof of the tallest building in the wizarding world was England's illustrious Seeker, similar to his Bulgarian counterpart he received his fair share of cheers, but a great deal less than she expected, then she realized that the reason for being so must be that the Bulgarian fans were probably weary of their competition for the World Cup, and probably a decent portion of the British were stilled enthralled by the veela cheerleaders. Even Ron and the twins seemed put off by his appearance, though for different reasons she suspected, as of two minutes ago Ron was as 'For the Motherland' as any Bulgarian present and the twins had bet a great sum (to them at least) against his success during this game.

He stood still, unmoving at the top of the stadium with his head facing the ground, the cheers of the crowd died down turning instead to wondering what was happening, but still he remained unmoving.

Slowly, he shimmied closer and closer to the edge; hopefully, he wouldn't throw himself over as she didn't think she would survive the freight, as he reached the very peak so that his toes were probably dangling over the edge he raised his face so that the entire world could see his mask, the peculiar expression marred by the emerald lightning bolt. Without so much as drawing his wand his voice was heard throughout the stadium, but unlike Fudge or even Dumbledore, it was not a great shout but a subtle whisper that had no less captivated the attention of every single attendee in the arena.

"A more perfect stage could not be asked for…" echoed the soft voice in her ear "I hope you enjoy my performance as much I enjoy performing It." he began to move his hands in a strange way that she could see neither rhyme or reason for, looking to her friend Hermione, she seemed to understand _what_ he was doing, but seemed no more certain of _why_ he was doing it.

Turning the miniature version of the eccentric Seeker she asked; "Do you know what he's doing?"

The Fawkes figure seemed to smile at her from behind his mask as ridiculous as that thought sounded even in her mind. "He is rallying the orchestra." he stated jovially.

"What?" but before she could inquire further, the real Fawkes' wand shot out from his sleeve, catching in it in his hand he began to wave it around, and just like that music began to reverberate through the stands, music like she'd never heard before, it was simply spectacular. It sounded like a thousand violins were being strung, a thousand trumpets buzzing, a thousand drums beating, and the sound of a thousand flutes resonating in unison.

Hermione looked shocked by the turn of events as the classical music rang softly in her ears; she was taken out of her astonishment when Rose asked her a question.

"Do you what this is?" she asked her Muggle friend, knowing this was Muggle music, but it was nothing like she'd ever heard before, most of her Mum's music was from her childhood and she had the inkling that whatever this was, was before her time.

The witch in question nodded her head but didn't answer, apparently still surprised at the turn of events, it wasn't every day something Muggle turned up in the magical world, especially at an event of this calibre.

"Well?" Rose asked with an exasperated sigh, annoyed by her friend's silence, 'honestly'.

Hermione snapped out of it at that "Oh ah… I-It's Tchaikovsky, his 1812 Overture." the young witch stuttered out with an embarrassed pink blush on her cheeks for having spaced out listening to the wonderful music, she had heard it before when she was younger but it didn't hold a candle to this.

As the girls listened to the composition, the moment the thunderous bang of a menagerie of brass cymbals clashed together, Fawkes wand arm shot out in front of him and from the tip of his wand a colossal burst of fire erupted, the mighty inferno enveloped the stadium in a blanket of gorgeous flame. After minutes of the astonishing sight accompanied by the unshakable music, the blaze began to take shape, as it coagulated and swirled together, people began to make out what it was becoming, with moulting feathers of ash in brilliant blues, oranges and reds began to float down onto the crowd, a fully formed phoenix took center stage.

The majestic creature started to soar in circles, as it flew gracefully around the rows of spectators it began to sing, a soft trill, a hymn that touched the very souls of the occupants in the stadium in chorus with the Muggle tune.

As Rosaline listened to the awe-inspiring melody, she felt uplifted, as if everything was right in the world, hope that England would prevail in the coming struggle and that Fawkes would lead them to victory. Looking around the room she noticed that upon all the faces of her family and friends, in fact all of the people supporting England rested smiles, the Fawkes figures were even clapping enthusiastically. She didn't fail to notice the looks of worry that passed over the faces of the Bulgarians, maybe even fear. Everybody in the arena appeared to have forgotten all about the veela's alluring dance, finding them on a platform that rose slightly above the pitch, she took note that even they seemed entranced by the remarkable magic. Eventually, she decided to simply bask in the feeling of contentment and joy, as she wondered if she'd ever get to experience such an event ever again in her life, she sincerely hoped so.

Perhaps it was mere moments or perhaps an eternity, she didn't know for certain, time seemed to have lost all meaning during the lament, but as the conjured phoenix back to its summoner she noticed that the monitors had tricked into an optical illusion, apparently the real Fawkes was in fact, standing directly above them, only inches atop the Minister's box. When the firebird finally reached its master it dove straight at him, just as they were about to collided, England's Seeker stretched out his arms and clapped his hands together… and like that, the enormous creature of fire evaporated in a rainbow tower of smoke with all manner of splendid colours manifesting in the rapturous display, some of which she'd never even seen before.

Once the smoke had died away, only the Muggle orchestra seemed to continue as no sign of the mighty flame creature remained in the arena sans the mixed feelings of hope and fear in the hearts of the audience, and Fawkes again stood still like a statue unfazed by the rest of the world.

When Hermione remarked that the song was reaching its climax and thus its end, Mr. Fawkes threw his arms in the air, and out of nowhere, rather imposing cannons metalized amongst the rafters and staircases but instead of deadly weapons of war firing lethal projectiles they were instruments which shot volley after of volley of glorious firework into the air, so the Quidditch pitch began to be inundated with the explosive power of sparklers and bangers, the night sky once again becoming illuminated with each rocket burst of neon and bangs from the exhibition.

The crowd increasingly impressed with the display, started to cheer madly, ranting and raving, roaring and racketing, this time even she merrily joined in with sheer joy during this unforgettable moment in time, here with her family and best friends. Without a doubt, this was quickly becoming the happiest day of her short life.

The fireworks started to bunch together, closer and closer to the center of the pitch, until they were all clustered together in some brilliant bouquet of bombs and spotlights. They formed a sphere which started to glisten in the dark like a disco ball even as each and every one of the other lights in the stadium went out; even the emergency signs went black.

Then, all of a sudden… it popped, like a gigantic piñata it ruptured and out came all the stolen lamination accompanied by millions upon millions of tiny glints of silver and gold, as they fell ever closer she discerned they were in fact… coins.

Hundreds of thousands of Galleons were falling from the sky, even more Sickles were following in their descent. As it seemed it was literally raining money. At first she panicked over the fact that actual tons of metal were falling from the heavens with the force of gravity pulling it down, she braced her body for the sudden introduction with a lot very heavy falling things.

"Don't worry about it." she opened one of her eyes to look at her Fawkes, he was resting calmly on her arm, he reached his arm out and poked her on the tip of her nose, making her go cross-eyed then exclaimed "Boop!" before she could connect the resemblance that act to the usual gesture her brother showed whenever she was frightened or confused, she flinched.

The coins were landing… and bouncing off people, the metal coins felt like tiny droplets of rain on velvet, all around the arena, other people were similarly discovering this fact and most of them once again burst into cheering Mr. Fawkes. This must be one of those moments were you become aware that you are experiencing a real moment in history, and realize all you can do is sit back and watch the fun, she concluded. The many Galleons and Sickles passed by the Minister box entirely probably based on the assumption that they weren't needed by anyone who could afford a seat here. Honestly, she didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the dismayed expression on Ron's face.

The monitors still showed the Seeker, this time his arms were outstretched on both sides of him as if to say "All that was me", he took a bow to the monstrous approval of the crowd. Next, he turned his back and began to walk away, when he started to go out of focus, he surprised again when he shifted his feet, spinning himself back around and made a mad dash toward the edge… and leapt off, again.

Again, she was aware that he was actually standing on the top of the roof of the Ministerial Box, but it didn't do much to stop her from being surprised when he passed by them, right in front of their faces, she managed to get a good look at him, she starred right at him as he fell, looking straight into his eyes, making her able to discern just a paltry bit more about him. He had green eyes, extremely captivating and strangely… familiar eyes.

Immediately after the last part of his body passed out of her peripheral vision, she quickly found the monitor again, just in time to see a crack of fire apparate next to him only for a moment later to see Mr. Fawkes disparate.

Then, this time Mr. Fawkes apparated again, but this time, he was surfing his broom, hovering above the pitch with an actual phoenix perched on his shoulder if it was possible the roars of the masses increased.

She was about to call it a day with all the amazing feats going on when Hermione asked; "Isn't that Professor Dumbledore's phoenix?"

Rosaline took stock of the noble bird on the Seeker's arm, and recognizing some the creature's features from one of her visits to Dumbledore's office, she mentally confirmed that it was indeed same phoenix that was familiar with the Headmaster (remembering what her brother said about phoenixes not being pets, but intelligent beings capable of independent, conscious thought, therefore they belonged to no one.) but not wanting to explain that to her friend with a long, boring conversation – she nodded.

"But, what is Dumbledore's phoenix doing here?" asked a confused Hermione.

Rose shrugged "Maybe he's a fan." hell if she knew, the last time she saw that bird, it nearly gave her a heart attack, randomly bursting into flames all sudden like, the last time Professor McGonagall sent her to Dumbledore's office for hexing Draco.

"You reckon Dumbledore is the bloke behind the mask?" was Ron's intelligent contribution to their conversation, still miffed about losing out on the chance to grab some Galleons.

"Ron, though Professor Dumbledore may be the most powerful wizard alive, I seriously doubt a man pushing 112 would currently be standing on a broomstick effortlessly, hundreds of feet in the air." scolded her smarter friend.

"Who is that, though? I've never seen magic like that before." Hermione queried, curious as who was able to perform those extraordinary bits of magic.

This time, one of the twins answered for her "That Ms. Granger-"

"Is Guy Fawkes-" then came the other twin, probably Fred.

"The current All-England Duelling Champ-" then the other, probably George.

"The previous winner of the European Grand Prix-" then so on.

"Also, the reigning World Duelling Champion-" and so forth.

"Not to mention he's England's Seeker-"

"Which he is doing, presently-"

"As we speak." they finished, she was always impressed when they did this, more so that they were able to keep from high-fiving each other after pulling it off.

"HE'S _**THAT**_ 'GUY FAWKES'!" screeched Hermione, garnering the looks of many of the rooms occupants, including but not limited to, two world leaders.

Rubbing her poor ears and scowling at her 'normally-not-this-excitable' best friend she managed to eek out "What are you on about?"

"Honestly, Rose" bemoaned Hermione "He's only the most important magical author of this century, we owe him so much." she, Ron, Ginny and the twins gave Hermione a look that said 'We're not all bookworms' who in return, sighed and took her backpack off her and rummaged through it all the while muttering something strangely similar to 'Would it kill any of to read every once in a while, couldn't hurt to learn something for yourselves for once.'

Hermione pulled out a stack of hardbacks, some of them she recognized, she'd actually read a couple of them, in fact, one of them she'd read a dozen times, another one she'd bought herself.

Then it clicked, 'Guy Fawkes' was the same person as the author of those books. She had to admit Hermione did have a point, they had taught her a lot, probably taught her friend a lot more.

The first of which she'd seen during her First Year at Hogwarts, 'A Muggle-born's Guide to the wizarding World', it was basically exactly what the title suggested, Hermione swore to this day that she wouldn't have made it to the train without it, saying that her parents had thought Platform 9 ¾ was a joke, and that chapter in the book described the ins and outs of the process of 'First Contact' had saved her from a 'normal' life. Hermione praised the little book so much, she'd decided to buy a copy for her mum as a Birthday present, who in turn stated that she wished she had such a resource when she was eleven, and even mentioned that she learned things she still hadn't known after twenty years in their world. Apparently, the book had been so successful it spawned a sequel, its counterpart 'A wizards Guide to the Muggle World' was the wizarding equivalent, it was so informative, Mum had even managed to convince the Hogwarts Board of Governors to make it required reading for her Muggle Studies Class.

The next one, she found singularly responsible for her passing grade in Potions and her above-average grades in the other courses. 'The Magician's Handbook: Seventy-seven tips, tricks and spells every Sorcerer should know' was treasure trove for all kinds of stuff, a lot of it felt like they should be taught at school was never bothered with, like how potions keep brewing even after the cauldron is taken off the fire or how Lycanthropy can be spread with a Werewolf's claws if they've had their hands anywhere near their mouth for a week. Not to mention all the different spells it contained, she didn't think she would have survived Hogwarts if she had to live in a dorm room with Lavender without a silencing spell.

The third book she could pick out was pretty conspicuous as the one Hermione nearly always had in her possession, certain people found it hilarious, the sight of a little girl lugging around the giant tome everywhere she went. Like the saying "Where's there smoke, there's fire" so too was "Where's there Hermione, there's a copy of 'The Encyclopaedia Magicka'", it was no great mystery why Hermione had adored her Fourteenth Birthday present so much, when one took into account that the book itself it was a massive index filled with every topic in the wizarding world from A-Z, complete with references and appendices.

Her face took on a deep shade of scarlet when she noticed the pink cover of the only other book she could make out from Hermione's collection. That particular manual was a gift from herself that she bought with the money she got from her latest Birthday with the permission of her mother. The book itself was filled with all manner of Pink Magic, which was the branch of magic that governed love, health, cosmetics, magical diets and… sex, hence the name 'The Book of Love'. She'd read it cover to cover. It was also the only book where she could vaguely remember the dedication, it further proved the point that Fawkes was in fact; male, as it was dedicated to his childhood crush in the hope she would realize his knowledge on the feminine subject.

She tried to blot out Hermione's rant regarding the books emphasizing the importance of the aforementioned literature to the entirety of the wizarding world, their group and her personally. She loved Hermione, she really did, but when she got like this it was better to tune her out, at the beginning she tried to listen and be a good friend, but the more steam Hermione picked up, the faster she talked; you couldn't even distinguish individual words by the end of it.

"You know something, Gred?" asked one of the twins, interrupting Hermione.

"What's that, Forge?" here we go again.

"I seem to recall a rumour, our mutual friend Lee told us."

"Ah, do you refer to his claim regarding the Chocolate Frog Card conundrum." as soon as he said 'Chocolate Frog', he had secured Ron's full attention, and admittedly a piece of hers as well.

"What are you two on about?" demanded their younger brother.

"Hmm, do you have a question Ickle Ronniekins?"

Ron was having none of it "What was that about you said 'Chocolate Frogs'?"

"Do you mean-"

"Ambrosius Flume's-"

"Of Honeydukes Sweetshop-"

"Million Galleon reward-"

"For whoever figures out-"

"Guy Fawkes real identity." the twins finished their latest bit.

She could practically hear the gears turning in Ron's head at that, as well as see the steam coming out of his ears. She had to hide her Fawkes figure before Ron could pull his mask off, followed by a squawk of indignation that he was an action figure and that he didn't actually have a face behind the mask.

"What would Mr. Flume want with him?" she asked of the twins.

"So he could be put on Chocolate Frog Card, of course." they chorused as one.

Caught up in their own conversations, they failed to notice the introductions of Team England.

Fudge stood up one last time at made the walk to the podium once more "Finally, let me introduce to you, all the way from Egypt, our referee, the acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch – Hassan Mostafa!" a small, skinny man with no hair but a twirly moustache, in robes of pure gold strolled out onto the pitch, a silver whistle hanging underneath his crooked nose.

The referee mounted his broomstick, kicked open a crate and like that the four Quidditch balls burst into the air, she'd only caught a short glance of the Golden Snitch before it sped out of her line of sight. With a blast of his whistle, the ref shot after the Quaffle and they game had the Final of the Quidditch World Cup had begun.

Bagman was providing the colour commentating "And theeeeeeeey're OFF!" he screamed.

She'd never seen Quidditch like this before, the House Cup games at school didn't even compare. Just the speed the players were going was incredible, the Chasers were passing the Quaffle back and forth so quickly, Bagman could barely keep up with saying their names.

The game passed by hastily, everything was moving like a blur, she was barely able to make out that Bulgaria's Beaters were giving their team the edge and subsequently their Chasers were able to take the lead on the scoreboard.

She had to make sure that her ears were plugged whenever Bulgaria scored a goal, as the veela would begin dancing again, and because she wanted to keep her focus on the match, not go off into la-la land

Despite the Bulgaria being ahead on the board, they weren't able to take the lead past the point England's Seeker couldn't win the game for their opponents.

As it were Fawkes and Krum were neck and neck the entire game, each man trying to get the better of the other utilizing everything their sport had to offer from who had the faster broom, which player could better execute manoeuvres, and which team's Beaters were attacking their counterpart.

After a half dozen fouls by Bulgaria, who didn't seem to understand they were the better team technically and started to play dirty then their mascots, the veela had lost control, they stopped dancing entirely and had begun to launch themselves across the field at English players as well as throwing fireballs at Mostafa.

Fawkes, the phoenix, had managed to prevent any real harm, lifting the naughtier veela into the air and letting them drop into a heap of mangy feathers.

Looking through her Omnioculars she was terrified to see they had lost all manner of their former beauty, quite the opposite they had began to moult disgustingly, their faces had elongated into sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads with long, scaly wings bursting from their shoulders.

"I told you so." came the condescending voice of her conscience but she could disagree that he had been right, as she was shivering from the grossness of just moments ago being drawn to the repulsive bird things, she was startled by a scream from Hermione.

"They're going to crash!" she yelled from her position next to her as she pointed at the two Seekers.

The men in question were currently hurdling toward the ground in what appeared to be a play for the Snitch. Hermione turned out to be half right as at the very last second, Krum pulled out of the dive, spiralled off and eventually evened out again. Fawkes however, was not so lucky it seemed, instead, the unmistakable sound of cracking wood echoed throughout the pitch, quickly followed by a huge groan from the British fans and a light cheer for the Bulgarians as England just may have lost their chance at the cup.

"Fool" moaned Mr. Weasley "Krum was feinting!" which was verified as the caption under the replay in her Omnioculars read out 'Wronski Defensive Feint – dangerous Seeker diversion'.

Bagman's called out another time in a pleased voice "It's time-out! Mediwizards are hurrying onto the field to examine Guy Fawkes."

Dad started raving about falling for such an obvious trick using words like 'wanker' and 'tosser' before Mum told him off for swearing in front of his daughter and the Minister of Magic.

"He'll be okay, he only crashed his broom." reassured Charlie Weasley to his sister Ginny, who looked like she was hanging over the side of the box, horror-stricken at the sight of the terrible crash.

It was a shame his broom had crashed, Fawkes broom was very rare, it wasn't as fast the Firebolt, but it was far more manoeuvrable and easier to handle which in her brother's opinion made it the superior Seeker's broom that relied more on their ability to make sharp turns and quick dives rather than the faster acceleration. The broom itself was made of English yew, with Goblin steel for the components and stirrups; it was a nice sliver color with green bolts of lightning, hence the name 'The Lightning-bolt' that was scribed into the inlay of the handle.

Harry had somehow managed to get her one for her Birthday, autographed by Guy Fawkes himself, he didn't give any indication on how he pulled it off but she didn't have the heart to ask more questions and annoy him when he had just given such an awesome present. She wondered idly if her broom was now the only one left.

"Which is what Krum was after, of course." finished Charlie's explanation.

She was inclined to agree with the Dragon enthusiast Weasley, surveying the damage of the crash, though Fawkes hadn't shared the exact same fate as his late broom did, he was crawling away slowly from where he had landed after he managed to jump off before he smashed into the canvas.

"Ladies and gentlemen, a terrible tragedy has occurred for British Quidditch fans everywhere, it seems our Seeker Fawkes has fallen for Viktor Krum's ruse, and looks like he will be out of action for the remainder of the game." explained Ludo Bagman, in a surprisingly chippier tone than you'd expect from that statement.

She watched sullenly as a couple of mediwitches and the referee helped Fawkes up, when suddenly Mostafa froze, a couple of seconds later she noticed the scoreboard shifting when it wasn't supposed to, after all, it was a time out.

The scoreboard flashed a couple of times then settled on something that made her jaw drop, before the time-out the score had been 210-70 in favour of Bulgaria. But now, with the referee from Egypt shouting boisterously below and England's Seeker cradling his face in his hands, the scoreboard had changed, as of now it was flashing with a great deal of confetti falling down around them at:

 **Bulgaria: 210, England: 220**

All across the crowd, most of which hadn't even realized what had happened yet. Then, slowly, like a bunch of non-lobotomized frogs in a boiling pot… started jumping. Every English supporter stood to their feet and like a powder keg they erupted into screams of delight. Victory for England, we've won.

"A-ah, it… it seems – it seems that – England's Seeker has caught the… Snitch - and a-ha thus won the World Cup." came the timid, shaking voice of Bagman over the sound waves as he announced what everyone in the arena already knew.

She was congratulating her Fawkes figure for his victory (which he humbly accepted) when she heard a sharp gasp from behind her followed by a loud thump and a squeal beside her.

Turning her head she saw Ginny with stars in her eyes 'Hmm, I guess Ginny is a bigger England fan than I thought.' then she noticed Hermione was lying, unconscious in a heap, by her side instantly she looked to her mother for help and to get a clue of what had happened when she noticed Mum's mouth was agape but her eyes were glued not to the prone body of her friend but to a fixed point on the Quidditch pitch.

Following her mother's eyes, she couldn't quite pick out what she was looking at and the screen had shifted to advertisements again, so she took out her handy Omnioculars and checked what she had missed while talking with Fawkes.

There, in the center of the field was a victorious Guy Fawkes, with his presumably injured face still in his hands surrounded by teammates and officials.

Apparently, the referee wanted to raise the hands of the winning Seeker so he grabbed the wrist of the hand holding the Snitch and thrust it into the air, but in doing so; he knocked off the man's mask and revealed the face of Guy Fawkes to the entire world to see.

A face anyone in her family would recognize, or if you will, anyone at Hogwarts really.

With that came the explanation for Ginny had squealed (her saviour had just been revealed as one of the wealthiest and most famous celebrities in Britain) why Hermione had feinted (the likely outcome of having to cope with knowing that the son of her role model, her idol, her hero and her crush was really the same person) and finally the reason her mum had gasped (with the realization her baby had just been outed as Duelling Champion and Quidditch star before he was even finished school)

There was the face of her brother.

'Guy Fawkes' was none other than her older sibling, Hadrian James Potter.

Harry was 'Guy Fawkes'.

Harry was her favourite author, a Duelling Champion, the greatest Quidditch player in World Cup history.

And she had no idea about it.

He hadn't told her a thing.

She turned to glare at the toy standing frozen on her arm.

The voice on her shoulder echoed his doppelganger on the pitch verbatim.

" _Shit_."

* * *

 **There you go, Chapter Two, I am actually really proud of this one; I hope you guys enjoyed it as well. If not… well that's life isn't it.**

 ** _Review_ : I really appreciate those commentary things, legit. I try to respond to every single one. Congrats, Flames, Criticisms, I don't care as long as you review, then thank you. The only things that I don't like are when people just leave 'Update soon'.**

 **You wanted more of this story (presumptuous of me I know) and now you got it. _Follow_ if you want to keep the ball rolling.**

 **I know it's not that good of a story... but if you dig it! Favourite it!**

 **Harry's Spellbook** **:** A collection of the spells Hadrian Potter has created in this story along with their descriptions;

' _ **Apricum Radius**_ **'** – 'The Sunlight Charm': The spell creates a ray of sunlight that emerges from the tip of the caster's wand; it is particularly useful for combating Vampires and other nocturnal undead creatures. May have the potential to give the user a nice tan if put into extended use by the caster.

' _ **Viegarde**_ **'** – 'the Phoenix-in-fire sign' a.k.a 'the Light Mark': The opposite of Voldemort's Dark Mark, allows the user to conjure the embodiment of light to either rally the forces of good or dispel the foul stench of evil. Created in conjunction by Hadrian Potter and Albus Dumbledore to combat the Death Eaters' brand, it is the exact opposite of their spell 'Morsmordre' which derives from the French words for 'death' and 'to bite', where 'vie' means 'life' and 'garder' means 'to keep'.


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